Page 2 of Loving Trent
All of it.
All of my pain originated here.
Looking at the empty place, devoid of the hushed chatter, it doesn’t look too scary, but back in its prime… this place was nothing but a nightmare—a nightmare for so many children, me included.
For ten years, I’ve always forced myself to face the most complicated things first. Therefore, after stepping off my bike and ignoring everything around me, I take the path to the right, walking past the dorms and heading straight toward my nightmare.
That room.
That bed.
The place where my childhood was stolen.
Something that I will never get back.
Something that wasn’t anyone’s to take.
My innocence.
I can’t breathe. I can’t stop shaking. But most of all, I can’t run away. Which is all I want to do. The camp is surrounded by nothing but woods. On my first day—a week ago—I was told that even if I managed to get past the security guards stationed around the property, there was no way I would make it out of the woods.
“So don’t bother trying to escape. You did this to yourself. You belong here. The outside world doesn’t want anyone like you,” Director Tom had said easily as if he was telling me the sky was blue.
I believed him that I wouldn’t make it through the woods, but I refused to believe anything else he said. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t deserve to be here. There has to be someone out there who wants me. Someone who will love me for me. Holding on to that small seed of hope is the only thing keeping me alive. Without it, nothing awaits me but death. How do I know that without that hope, I’ll die? I don’t know, but I just know that I will.
The last seven days haven’t been too bad. All the kids here have to attend the standard classes as if we were back in public high school. Just like back home, church is a big part of everyday life here. Attendance is mandatory, and service is held every single night. None of the kids talk very much, but that's okay with me. I don’t want to talk to anyone here. All I want to do is go home.
Thirty-five kids call this place home. I know because I counted at the first service I went to. It helped starve off the cold, icy claws of fear. Director Tom is the man who runs the place and also serves as the preacher. There are seven counselors, each of whom is assigned a group of five kids. The counselors live with us in the small, square dorms that consist of an open room with two bunk beds, one single twin bed, two dressers we all have to share, and a bookshelf.
The counselors have their own private room behind one of the two doors inside the dorm. The other door leads to a small bathroom just big enough for a small shower, toilet, and a floating sink. The rules here seemed backward at first, but now I understand them. The young girls are assigned a male counselor while a female counselor supervises us boys. We are never allowed to be in the room alone with a member of the same sex as us, even an adult. If we are, I’ve been told there will be a punishment for everyone involved.
There are two teachers, a male for the girls and a female for the boys. They teach us all the subjects. There is a cafeteria that also doubles as a gym when we have our physical education class. We get three meals a day. It isn’t the best food, but at least they give us something. There are three other buildings that I haven't been inside yet. But I see the looks on the kids’ faces when they are taken there and after they come back.
The pain, hopelessness, and desperation written clearly on their faces made me never want to go to those buildings.
But my time has come. Ten minutes ago, Director Tom opened the door to my dorm and told me to follow him. Everything inside me screams to refuse, but I’ve seen what happens when you do. Just a few days ago, all of us had to stand by and watch as a young girl was denied food for two days because she refused to walk with Director Tom. The mission of Camp Arrow is simple to understand. Homosexuality is a sin. It’s the devil trying to corrupt us. We are sick, but as Director Tom says during his sermon, “Don’t worry, my children. We will purify you and make you clean once more.”
A woman is waiting outside the dorm for us, and the smell rolling off her causes a gag to work its way up my throat. This woman smells like she bathes in her perfume, which is made up of the sweetest-smelling thing possible. My feet step back,trying to put some space between us, until a large hand clamps down on my neck. As a trio, we make our way down a path I’ve yet to take. The further we walk away from camp, the more I start to shut down. All my senses stop working until we are standing in front of a black painting building that looks exactly like the dorms.
A scream echoes around us, but I’m the only one who turns to look for it. Was that in my head? Like waves crashing onto the beach, pain, heartbreak, evil, and despair crash into me. Stumbling back, my muscles tense up in anticipation of being used to take me far away from here. But Director Tom clamps his hand on my shoulder, unlocks the door, and pushes me inside. The woman follows, and the door shuts behind her.
“Do you know why you’re here?” The woman—I forgot her name the moment she told me—asks.
Her voice sounds like the combination of all the monsters I’ve watched on TV. Hearing it has fear racing through me, consuming everything in its path of destruction.
My head is pulled back by her hands in my hair. “Trent, answer me. Do you know why you are here?” Refusing to give her my voice, I shake my head instead.
She grabs my hand and leads me deeper into the room. My eyes fall on a queen-size bed with a black iron frame standing in the middle of the room. The sheets aren’t the thin, white ones we use. Instead, the bed is covered in black, silk-looking sheets that shimmer under the light. The wall to our right, the one that the bed is facing, is made up of nothing but mirrors. In front of us, on the other side of the bed, is an open door through which I glimpse a bathroom.
Warning bells are going off all around me, urging me to fight and run away. Whatever happens in this room is something that I’ll never come back from.
“I’m not here to hurt you. Tom brings people like me in to help you. That’s what we are going to do here. Do you know that I’m a doctor? I’m going to clean you. Don’t you want to live a happy, long, and successful life?” She asks, turning me around and pushing me to sit on the edge of the bed.
I want to scream at her that I was happy before I came here. I might not have had friends, but I was happy. I want to cry that there isn’t anything wrong with me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Have I? But instead of doing what I want, my heavy tongue stays pressed down unmoving.
The sound of a zipper being lowered pierces the silence, and I squeeze my eyes shut because I don’t want to see what the woman is doing. I don’t want to be here. Please, someone, come take me away from here. But no one does. No one comes to save me as I finally find my voice. As I beg the woman I don’t know, not to touch me. She tells me that what we are doing is right. That it's what is supposed to happen. That my mind is sick because my body wants it. My body reacts to her even though I don't want it to. Even though I scream that I don't want any of this.
As the memory fades, my hand pushes open the door, and I find the room set up the same way it was on that fateful day. I don’t want to step inside the building. Panic claws at my chest, fear restricts my throat, and pain laces my stomach. The room starts to spin, and I clamp my eyes shut. Bringing my shaky hand up, I place it under my leather jacket, against the soft cotton of my white t-shirt, and press it against my chest. The solid, albeit fast, beating of my heart centers me. I focus on regulating mybreathing and letting the feeling of my heart calm the monster inside me.
